


In Tents

by whatabadchoice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Camping, Comeplay, Derision Towards the Environmentally Conscious, Destiel Smut Brigade, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Inappropriate Use of Natural Oils, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7036216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatabadchoice/pseuds/whatabadchoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel needed to learn about a real camping trip. Sure, it had been years since Dean’s last camping trip and, <em>fine</em>, he bought the damn tent a week ago when he realized he had thrown his father’s out during the move to the penthouse on Fifth… But Castiel had let slip that he had never even been fishing and that was a downright crime. Plus, there was the issue of Dean’s promotion -- a one way ticket to the L.A. branch at Sandover in September.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Tents

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Destiel Smut Brigade Bingo Challenge. I am terrible at smut.
> 
> (Also I chose to do a blackout????)  
> 

“Do you think your voodoo can bring us some good fucking weather, Cas?”

It’s raining and Dean is already annoyed that he is setting up the tent alone. Cas, on the other hand, is sitting cross legged in the middle of the campsite, _humming_. He looks completely serene when he answers.

“It’s not _voodoo_. Don’t pretend like you haven’t come to one of my sessions, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes and crouches down to pound the final stake into the ground, somewhat miffed at his best friend’s calm despite the faint, but consistent drizzle literally dampening their trip. The trip Dean had been planning for them _all summer_. What are the chances of rain in the middle of _July_? Dean had specifically asked for this weekend off from the office and he’d checked and double checked with Castiel that none of his stupid patchouli-smelling followers had some hippie retreat of their own planned.

In fact, it had been one of those granola friends of Cas’ that had mentioned their all-vegan, all-organic meditation retreats that finally made Dean put his foot down. Castiel needed to learn about a real camping trip. Sure, it had been years since Dean’s last camping trip and, _fine_ , he bought the damn tent a week ago when he realized he had thrown his father’s out during the move to the penthouse on Fifth… But Castiel had let slip that he had never even been fishing and that was a downright crime. Plus, there was the issue of Dean’s promotion -- a one way ticket to the L.A. branch at Sandover in September. Dean frowns at the stubborn stake, finally succeeding in wedging into the ground, and glares at Cas.

“Besides,” Cas says, eyes still closed. “It’s supposed to clear up.”

“Did Mother Earth tell you that?”

“No,” Castiel quips, squinting up at Dean. “The Weather Channel app on your phone did.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Dean breaks first, like always. 

“Asshole,” he mutters good naturedly, and goes about putting his bags in the tent. Castiel smiles too, eyes still closed.

 

*

It’s another two hours before they make their way to the river nearby. Dean gets lost twice, but pretends they’re just taking the scenic route. Cas, for his part, doesn’t comment; though a faint smirk is a permanent fixture on his lips.

When they finally get to the river, the weather has in fact cleared up so that the sun is beating down on the murky waters of the slow moving body of water. Dean takes out his equipment, much of which he had to replace in preparation for this trip.

“Want a pair of coveralls? I have an extra,” Dean offers, but Castiel shakes his head. Dean shrugs, donning the large rubber pants, holding on to the trunk of his car for balance. He had considered asking his brother for his truck, but he loved his classic car, so he’d brought it despite the risk of scratches or dirt out here on a campground. Besides, Dean always felt a little smug that his earth-loving friend always let his eyes linger a little too long on the pristine black paint and silver fixings on his Baby. So maybe a 1967 Chevy Impala wasn’t the most fuel-efficient greenpeace-mobile car, but Dean was still proud of the way she even made the vegans do a double take. Dean had rebuilt her from scratch, a vestige of his time with his dad, and every awed glance was worth the extra gallon per mile.

Once they get out to the shore line, bait box and poles ready, Dean has to do a double take of his own because Castiel is standing pantless in the thigh high waters. Thankfully, today is the kind of day where he has worn undergarments (God knows there have been days where he hasn’t), still the sight of Cas standing in his boxers in the water has Dean shuffling in the water uncomfortably. 

They’re best friends. Have been since the day Sammy made Dean attend that god awful hot yoga class and Dean ended up with a homeless instructor on his doorstep. Dean has seen Cas in various stages of undress over the years they’ve lived together since then, and in some pretty compromising positions too. Yet, the surprise of it, the sun beating down on him, alone in the woods… The sight of Cas smiling out at a river holding a fishing pole brings an odd pang to his chest like nostalgia for moments they’ve never actually shared.

“I am not quite familiar with fishing techniques, but I think some stillness is required for the fish to be lured into the trap…” Castiel says mildly, eyes closed as he casts his line. Dean rolls his eyes.

“They also like _quiet_ ,” Dean grumbles, but Castiel just smiles in the sunlight, standing stock still against the gentle current. 

It’s well over an hour before Dean gets a tug at his line, and by then he is cursing his idea of being out here. His shoulders ache and his back is stiff from the awkward angle he’s been holding his body, tense with anticipation. Not to mention the sun, which was completely covered by clouds and rain only a few hours prior, has made its resurgence with a vengeance. He’s sure the outline of his ratty old band t-shirt is being burned into his pale skin. The tug at the line is salvation -- (how on earth did he used to willingly do this every weekend with his father?) --, but in his overeager attempt to reel in the fish, he scares it away, and the line comes back empty. He looks over at Castiel, who is standing serenely in the water, eyes closed and lips pulled into a soft smile. Dean scowls.

Cas, as if sensing Dean’s disappointment, cracks an eye open, smiling outright at Dean.

“What are you so happy about?” Dean asks petulantly. Castiel doesn’t say anything, just brings up a finger to his mouth in a gesture of quiet, and points down to his feet.

The water is murky brown, but Dean can still see an aggregation of fish at Castiel’s bare feet. Cas wiggles his toes, and they don’t even scatter. Dean scowls harder.

“Looks like you’ve really got the hang of _fishing_ ,” Dean says acidly. “You know? _Catching_ and _gutting_ fish?”

Cas just frowns, wiggling his toes again.

“You got some sort of good luck charm to keep ‘em coming like that or just another part of your voodoo magic?” 

He knows he’s pushing it, but he can’t seem to stop himself from picking a fight. He swallows down the immediate urge to apologize and instead clenches his jaw in stubbornness.

“I believe this is a good opportunity to commune with nature,” Cas says serenely, ignoring Dean’s petty jab. Dean rolls his eyes. He’s not quite sure why Cas is grating on his nerves particularly on this day, but somehow his New Age bullshit is driving Dean nuts. In addition to the sweltering July heat that sprung up out of nowhere, Dean finds his temper broiling at the surface. And the calmer Cas is, the more Dean wishes he would react.

Instead of answering Cas, Dean mumbles under his breath. Cas smirks.

*

Despite Dean’s insistence on staying out until dark, he doesn’t catch anything more than a bad sunburn and a worse mood. It’s still humid outside, as if the rain in the morning was but a warning. Dean has a tension headache when Cas decides to name the crawfish he captured in a large pail.

“Those are going to be dinner,” Dean mutters angrily on their way back. And _God_ , could he use some dinner right now.

“Just because we will consume them, it doesn’t mean they are not worthy of respect and dignity,” Cas says solemnly as he lets one of his fingers trail in the shallow water of the pail. 

“You named a crawfish Jophiel,” Dean deadpans. Cas shrugs.

“His aura seemed angelic.”

Dean huffs as they pull into their campsite, the tiny red tent and the cookingware right where they left it illuminated in Baby’s headlights.

“Alright, well, if you’re ready to say goodbye, I think you should start a fire while I cook some rice. I got beers in the cooler, we can eat our dinner by the pit,” Dean directs, lighting the gas lamp they brought with them. He tears off the price tag as he does it and pretends he doesn’t see Castiel raise an eyebrow from where he sits at the firepit. “You better get on it,” he says, to cover up his blush. “I’m starving.” 

The rice is nearly done, along with Dean’s second beer, by the time Castiel breaks the somewhat uncomfortable silence.

“I’m really happy we got to spend time together this weekend,” Castiel says. Dean looks up from the battered old pot on the stove top at Castiel, who has appropriated a log and is sitting cross legged in front of a veritable bonfire.

Well, shit.

“Me too,” Dean says quietly. The smile Castiel flashes his way almost makes up for the guilt in Dean’s stomach at acting like a jerk. It’s so typically Cas, saying something genuine and sincere to instantly remind Dean of why they’re so close despite having next to nothing in common. Dean’s teeth ache at the thought of living so far away in the fall. He clears his throat, pushing those thoughts from his mind. A Goodbye Weekend doesn’t mean braiding each other’s hair and weeping about the good old days.

“The, uh, rice is pretty much done here, so I guess we can just..” Dean gestures vaguely to the fire pit area and Castiel smiles again, pulling up a log beside him.

Dean balances the crawfish and utensils on top of the casserole full of rice as he crouches down to sit by Cas. His knees crack, and he can’t help but let out a small groan of discomfort at the makeshift chairs.

“Probably should have brought some chairs,” Dean mumbles distractedly as he tries to get settled with his hands full. He teeters off balance for a moment, before Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder to right him. He smiles weakly at the help, cheeks a little pink.

“These logs are adequate, I think,” Cas responds. “Besides,” he adds, expression sly. “It would have been expensive to buy two chairs on top of all the other equipment you purchased for this trip.”

Dean splutters for a second, caught, as his slight blush erupts in full.

“You,” Dean says, but Castiel’s chuckling. Dean deflates slightly and rolls his eyes. “Asshole,” he says, but the words are more fond than angry. 

“I appreciate the effort, Dean,” Castiel replies seriously, moving his hand to his bicep and squeezing. “I know you and your father used to participate in these kinds of activities when you were young. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Cas lets go, busying himself with the grill Dean had set up on the fire while Dean is left reeling from another dose of that special brand of unexpected sincerity that is just so _Cas_.

They eat quickly, hardly talking, but the silence speaks more to their empty stomachs than the inexplicable tension between them all day. And ok, alright, Dean can admit that their friendship has suffered some in the past few months. And maybe that has something to do with moving to the penthouse. Dean and Cas used to live in a smaller apartment, where Cas would forget his clothes on the bedroom floor, where they’d share day-old take out in the tiny kitchen as Dean bounced marketing ideas off a semi-sober Cas, where it always seemed like the rooms were full -- of furniture, possessions, warmth. 

But if Dean’s being completely honest, he knows it isn’t the cold tile in the new spacious apartment causing the chill between them. Dean’s climb up the corporate ladder exchanged late nights at home for board meetings and functions. And though Dean tried inviting Cas to those dinners, as a friend of course, Cas hadn’t seemed all that interested. Besides, the one time Cas _did_ attend, Dean had lent him a suit, but they had left early after Zachariah had raised his eyebrows and asked _who_ was _that_ and where could he get one? 

But that was the sacrifice Dean made not to end up like his dad -- blue collar and working himself to an early grave. And he stood by it.

Throughout all this introspection, Dean hasn’t noticed Cas rummaging in his pockets until there’s a familiar too-sweet smell that, though he’d never admit it, Dean _likes_ smelling around the apartment from time to time. It means Cas is home.

“You gonna share, or what?” Dean asks roughly. He doesn’t usually partake, happy to spend calories on beer for that promised buzz… but something about Cas’ _communing with nature_ bullshit must be getting to him with all this fresh air because he finds himself wishing, not for the first time, for the kind of relaxation Cas constantly seems to exude.

Cas raises his eyebrows, mouth still puckered around the cigarette. He finishes sucking in his breath and holds it in as he passes Dean the joint.

Dean ignores the way Castiel eyes him curiously and dives in. The smoke burns a little, but he ignores the urge to cough when he breathes out slowly. He takes two hits and passes it back to Castiel, nonchalant.

“Hmm,” Castiel hums, smirk in place.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Castiel responds airily. He blows out smoke that joins the cloud already trailing from the fire. “Sure you can handle my _voodoo magic_?”

Dean’s feeling the effects enough to find _that_ pretty ridiculous, so he can’t help the giggle that bubbles up to his mouth. Castiel grins back at him and suddenly they’re both laughing, Dean jostling Cas when he throws his head back. Castiel, for his part, shoves Dean back, eyes soft and hazy from the smoke.

“We should commune more,” Dean blurts out, the tail end of his laugh making his voice lilt dangerously. Castiel snorts. “With nature, I mean,” Dean adds, ears pink. “What do your granola friends do on those hippie retreats, anyway?” 

“My granola friends?” Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the yoga class I teach?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean scoffs. “The people you’re always going on trips with on the weekends.”

It comes out more petty than teasing and Dean can tell Castiel, even high, has noticed. 

“We usually go on hikes, do trust exercises, strengthen our bond of community through physical activity,” Castiel replies steadily. Dean scoffs.

“And get high,” he pushes. Castiel shrugs.

“Some do, yes,” he acquiesces. “Often during our bonding games.”

“Is that some sort of sex thing?” The question is out of Dean’s mouth before he can stop it. He can’t bring himself to care about the way he reddens though, the pot has made his lips loose, so he takes another hit while Castiel answers.

“No…” Castiel replies slowly, as if _Dean_ is the weird one here. Dean knows he should just let it go, but he’s curious. Ever since Dean got the promotion and the new apartment and the pay raise, Castiel has started… fading out. The apartment doesn’t smell like old take out and Castiel keeps his clothes in his room and Dean even finds himself missing the butts in makeshift ashtrays or empty beer bottles. Sure, it’s nice that the place is finally _clean_ , but Dean wonders what the hell is so great about Castiel’s yoga classes that he spends all his free time with them now anyway?

“Would you like to try one?” Castiel asks, when Dean doesn’t say anything for a while.

Dean bites his lip.

“As long as I don’t have to chant or some shit,” Dean grumbles half heartedly. 

“Yogic chants are incredibly beneficial, Dean,” Castiel admonishes lightly, getting up. Dean just stares skeptically up at him.

“Here,” Castiel says, dragging his log closer to the fire. Dean gets up numbly, knees cracking loudly. That gets Cas’ attention, and he notices Dean’s apprehensive stare at the same time. “Relax, Dean, it’ll just help you concentrate to be closer.” 

When Dean sits back down, their relocation makes it so that his entire vision is burning orange, and the heat from the flames is almost stifling. If he stares straight ahead, he has to close his eyes. It’s not unpleasant. In fact, Dean’s a little sleepy just sitting there in the warmth. The humidity in the air hasn’t dissipated much, even at night, but somehow instead of discomfort, Dean just feels… surrounded. In a good way. 

“One thing that I like to do with new classes at the beginning of the retreat is to have them talk about something personal,” Cas says softly, but the sound of his gravelly voice startles Dean out of his thoughts. Cas is sitting closer now and that thought seeps into Dean’s brain slowly. He can feel his skin flush when Cas lays a hand on his jean clad thigh. “So would you like to divulge something personal to me Dean?”

Dean turns his head so that he’s looking at Cas instead of the fire, but Castiel shakes his head and gestures to the fire when he notices.

“This isn’t about me, Dean. It’s about the experience, about sharing something secret so that it can be let go,” Castiel says then, still quiet. Dean turns back to the fire, but finds he has nothing to say. His mind is blank, probably because he’s _fucking high_ , and his heart pounds with anxiety at not having an answer for Cas. 

As if reading his thoughts, Castiel clears his throat.

“I’ll start,” he continues. “A few years ago, I became infatuated with someone. It was… intense, but unrequited. It was difficult for me to let it go, I felt all consumed by this… person. It felt like…”

Dean steals a glance at Cas at the pause, but he is just staring into the flames. The light tone of the evening has abruptly changed to a much more serious atmosphere again, and Dean can’t help but feel tense, despite the fuzzy way his thoughts are running through his head at the moment.

“Anyway, I tried everything. The yoga wasn’t enough, neither was the alcohol or the pot. So I tried… It was a difficult time for me and I genuinely feared I wouldn’t come back from this - this _fall_. And then one day, I wrote a letter. I actually meant to send it to them, use the postal system and all,” Castiel chuckles then, and Dean can’t help an answering smile because Cas abhors inefficient government services. “But once I started writing, it seemed like a weight was lifted. So much so, that I wrote them a letter every day until I felt like I could let them go.”

“Did you ever send them?” Dean can’t help but ask. He’s trying to keep his gaze fixed on the fire, but Castiel’s pained expression is difficult to ignore.

“No. I kept them. To remind myself that I can’t… that I shouldn’t let someone have such a hold on me again,” Castiel answers darkly. He shrugs, as if physically shaking off his thoughts. “I stopped writing them every day, but there are days that I still write one… It helps somewhat.”

“Basically you’re saying you wrote some girl love letters for a few years and sometimes you still do and you just… never told her?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Actually it is a man,” Cas says, still staring into the flames. “But yes, I suppose that is my confession.”

Dean swallows for a moment, tongue suddenly thick. Logically, Dean is aware that Cas dates guys. One of the many compromising positions he has found Cas in had involved guys in the past. But Dean considers himself an open guy, he doesn’t judge. How could he, when he himself has dated both men and women? Walking in on Cas and a guy a few years back had certainly got him blushing, but Cas never brought it up, and Dean could never bring himself to say anything either. Dean’s bisexual. He knows that. His friends know that. He’s a grown man, damn it, and he will fuck whoever he sees fit. But his father had never known that about Dean, or at least pretended not to, and Dean could never tell if it was because Dean didn’t bring it up, or because John was so far in denial that he actually believed his son was straight. So sitting in front of a fire, hearing Cas admit candidly to being in love with a man... Dean’s cheeks feel a little hot. 

“What about you?” Castiel says then, evidently ready to change subjects. Dean startles. “Anything to confess?”

Dean squirms in his seat. On the one hand, this is stupid. Just completely and utterly idiotic, and actually it’s pretty much exactly what Dean wanted to _avoid_ on their serious, manly camping trip… On the other hand, Cas said something real. And Dean’s been an asshole this entire trip, he knows, but even he isn’t that much of a jerk.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, chuckling and glancing surreptitiously at Castiel. Cas just looks on at the fire, expression unreadable. “Yeah, um, should I just say it or is there some kind of magic way of doing this?”

That seems to get Cas’ attention, and he turns to roll his eyes at Dean. Dean smirks with more confidence than he feels.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Okay. Well. I’m getting a promotion in a few weeks,” he starts. Castiel huffs, interrupting him.

“That isn’t a secret, Dean,” Castiel says impatiently. Dean raises his eyebrows.

“I know. I’m getting to that part,” Dean replies, sticking out his tongue at Cas, who has already turned back to the fire. “ _Anyway_ , as I was saying, I’m getting a promotion in a couple of weeks and... “ Dean takes a deep breath, concentrating on the burning heat of the flames that matches the heat of Castiel’s body where he sits closeby. “I, uh… I don’t want it.”

The words come out in a rush, breathy and a little shaken. A piece comes loose in his chest and Dean feels like he can breathe deeper. God. Maybe he should consider becoming a hippie. Dean fights through the burn of embarrassment he feels on his skin and holds his chin up, frowning.

“What _do_ you want?” Cas asks gently. Dean, who apparently hasn’t had as much practice as Cas at these bullshit trust exercises, glances quickly at Cas’ face, but his best friend’s expression once again gives nothing away as he stares into the flames.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, I spent all this time trying not to be like my dad, you know? Aimless con man whose biggest adventures were “road trips” he brought his kids on when he fucked up too bad to stay in the same town… But…” Dean sighs. “I miss it.”

“Conning people?” Castiel prompts. Dean shakes his head, even though Castiel can’t see him.

“No, but… I used to ask my dad where we were going; so I could get some kinda idea of what to tell Sammy when he’d ask me how much longer. Anyway, he used to say some bullshit about life not being about destinations. ‘It’s about the journey, son.’ That’s what he’d tell me…” Dean’s vaguely aware that he is rambling now, but it’s pouring out and he can’t stop. “The thing is, Cas, I don’t know what my destination is. I don’t even think I’ve moved. I worked so hard to get this stupid fucking promotion, but my last one didn’t mean shit either. So what the fuck am I doing?” Dean lets his gaze drop to his hands on his lap. “What the fuck am I doing?” he repeats, a quiet echo.

Cas places a hand on top of his, eyes still firmly set on the fire.

“I just… I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here. I want… I don’t know. I miss the open road, maybe… I wish I could just go out there and drive, you know? Just drive and drive and forget about bills and promotions and fucking 401ks,” Dean sighs. “Just a crazy dream, I guess.”

Dean’s head is fuzzy and he can’t pinpoint exactly what went wrong, but he knows what he’s saying doesn’t exactly make sense. Castiel nods earnestly as if it does though, so Dean tries not to worry too much about it.

“Well,” Castiel says, finally looking away from the fire and blinking in the dark at Dean. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Dean. Because life's a journey too, and even though there isn’t a destination, you might miss some really important exits if you stay on the freeway. You know?” 

Dean just looks at him.

“What the fuck are you even saying, Cas?”

Castiel throws his head back and laughs, but Dean can’t shake the uneasy feelings his impromptu confession brought up.

“I don’t know, Dean. I’m high,” Castiel says, laughing still. Dean smiles weakly, shrugging.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed, Cas,” he says, abrupt. Castiel nods absently and Dean sees him fiddling with a baggie. 

“‘Night, man,” Dean says, as Castiel begins to roll another joint. Dean knows him well enough to know it won’t be his last, but Dean already feels like he’s said too much. He walks over to the tent and unzips the flap.

He climbs into the sleeping bag in the tent, contemplating his confession.

Usually, when he indulges, though it is a rare occurrence, Dean passes out quickly, the weed making him sleepy and relaxed in a way that most other methods he has used can’t. Yet the events of the day, Cas’ confession, and his own feelings of overexposure leave him unsettled. He tosses and turns for most of the night, unable to find a comfortable spot on the ground.

 

*

Dean is jostled into awareness and the first thing he can think is a string of curse words towards the advertisers of the “comfortable” camping mat he bought. 

“What the fu--” Dean starts.

“Get up! We’re going on a hike!” Cas interrupts.

“Wha-?” Dean rubs at his nose, confused.

“Come on! We don’t want to leave too late or it’ll be too hot!”

Without another word, Cas leaves the tent.

Dean sits up, mouth still hanging open. After a moment, he sighs, changing into a fresh pair of boxers. It isn’t quite hot yet, and Dean can tell it’s way too early to be waking up, especially on _vacation_ , but he also knows arguing with Cas is unlikely to be productive.

Ten minutes later, Cas is shoving a granola bar into Dean’s hand and marching towards the impala.

“Uh, you plannin’ on driving?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised. Castiel just looks at him.

“We did what you wanted to do yesterday,” Castiel reminds him, and Dean’s retort dies on his lips at the reminder of the disaster that was yesterday’s fishing.

Dean begrudgingly hands over the keys to his car, pouting.

“Don’t worry,” Cas assures him, sliding into the driver’s seat like he belongs there. Dean ignores the twitch in his toes at the sight. “You’ll like it.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t argue with the confident man behind the wheel of his prized possession.

“And if you’re good, I’ll give you a reward!” Cas calls out, climbing into the vehicle as Dean processes the words with what is sure to be a thoroughly bewildered expression on his face.

*

Dean’s exhausted. He’s starving. His shirt is drenched through with sweat and his knees are throbbing. Cas is standing proud, hands on his bare hips, a stupid goofy pride in his eyes. If this hike was revenge for making them stand in the sun for six hours, Cas is one wily motherfucker. Dean tries not to groan as he makes his way down the last couple of steps to the ravine.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Cas says. Or at least Dean _thinks_ that’s what he said. The sound of the water rushing through the small canyon they just hiked down is absolutely deafening. Dean has to lean in close and read lips to infer.

“Yeah…”

Dean doesn’t bother yelling, but instead moves closer to Cas as he speaks, sweat and smell be damned. Cas, he notices, smells pretty gross too. So, _there_. 

“It’s so loud though!” Dean mouths, gesturing to his ears and the water. He’s leaning forward to capture Cas’ attention. Cas nods, smiling. He hops off the rock he was perched on to reply.

“I know,” he says and his voice surprisingly easy to hear when Cas’ lips are nearly pressed against Dean’s ear. “Isn’t it amazing?” 

Dean can’t help but smile. Because, yeah. It’s pretty fuckin’ amazing. It sure as hell beats standing in a lake getting a sunburn and Dean’s kinda feeling the moment here. He briefly entertains the idea of actually going to one of Cas’ retreats or whatever, but is quickly reminded of the way he had struggled to touch his toes in that first yoga class so long ago. Still, maybe Cas has a point. Despite the sour mood that ended the night before, Dean still feels lighter for having told his best friend how he really feels.

He tears his eyes away from the rushing water in front of him to look at Cas, who is already surveying him with a fond look.

Then, Cas is leaning forward, a glint of mischief in his eye, and Dean is suddenly transported back to the memory of walking in on Cas, standing shirtless in their tiny kitchen; a young, sandy haired man bent over on the table with his wrists bound together. His stomach does a weird flop at the fleeting thought and he can feel his heart rate accelerate. Dean’s lips part in surprise, and he swears he can see Cas’ gaze flit to them briefly, but when he looks again, Cas is leaning over to put his mouth to Dean’s ear again.

“You know what’s great about the noise?”

Dean shakes his head, both in answer and in hopes of clearing his mind a little.

“You can’t hear anything!” Cas exclaims, and leans forward onto the protruding rock to yell something into the void. He’s right. There’s no sound beyond the rushing of water and the sound of Dean’s own heartbeat still ringing in his ears despite Cas moving his mouth. Cas comes back to stand at Dean’s side and nudges him.

“Come on, try it!” Cas prompts. “It’s liberating.”

Cas is staring expectantly at Dean, and Dean is tempted to say no. The scenery is gorgeous, truly, and Dean actually does think the hike was worth it, even though his knees will be protesting tomorrow. But… Well, for one, the rock Cas so nimbly jumped to and from hangs precariously over literally gallons of water traveling over sharp rocks at hundreds of miles per hour. And second of all… Dean’s already done way too much liberating this weekend. He was seriously considering _yoga_ for a minute. 

“Cas,” he complains, leaning in so Castiel can hear him. “Are you serious?”

Cas frowns, his nose wrinkling and his eyebrows coming together at the middle, and damn if that doesn’t break Dean’s resolve off the bat.

“What’s next? Tarot card readings?” Dean asks halfheartedly. He knows he’ll end up doing whatever Cas wants, but he puts up a fight like a stubborn habit.

“I did that for you at graduation,” Cas reminds him. “You seemed to enjoy it a lot.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s already stepping onto the large rock,

Once he’s standing on the edge of the cliff, the sound of the water and surrounding greenery is sort of calming in a way. He steals a glance back at his best friend, and Cas is gazing somewhat smugly at him. Or maybe it’s just his imagination. Either way, Dean decides to test the waters, literally. He closes his eyes and turns towards the deafening roar.

“CASTIEL IS A GIANT DICK!”

The sound echoes off the walls of the canyon a few times and Dean barely contains a giggle at the thought of people hearing it along the trails. That gives him an idea.

“DEAN _HAS_ A GIANT DICK!”

He grins to himself and checks Cas’ expression, turning to make sure his shouts have so far gone unheard by the man behind him. Cas is just gazing serenely at the water, smile fond and thoughtful. Dean smiles to himself. _Huh…_

Dean bites his lip.

“I DON’T WANT TO SAY GOODBYE.”

He feels a little stupid, but a lot better at the confession. _I don’t want to say goodbye_ , the canyon yells back at him, and Dean can’t help but grin. As it bounces off the stone walls and fades into the world, Dean sort of feels like the burden fades away too. He feels drunk.

“I DON’T WANNA END UP LIKE MY DAD!”  
_I don’t wanna end up like my dad._  
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT!”  
_I don’t know what I want._  
“I AM SO FUCKING SCARED!”

He bellows the last one so loudly his throat actually feels a little sore, but it’s worth it to hear the stupid emotion dissipate into nothing, like it didn’t really matter anyway. And maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s that easy. _I am so fucking scared._

Grinning, Dean jumps down from the rock, landing somewhat steadily beside Cas, who smiles widely back at him.

“Your turn!” Dean says, giddy, in Cas’ ear. Castiel laughs. 

“Alright, one last time,” Cas says, and there’s an indecipherable look in his eye when he hops back up onto the rock. 

It takes a minute, apparently, for Cas to think about what he wants to say. He just stands there, bare chested, with his stupidly pink thong sandals and loose striped pants that look like someone’s pyjamas from the 50’s. His eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed and Dean thinks, not for the first time since he met the man in front of him, that he might like to know exactly what Cas is thinking.

When Cas turns to the water to shout, Dean isn’t looking anymore. He is staring at the orange glow of the stone walls in the sunlight, grinning still and mind completely blank. So he’s not expecting it when he hears Cas’ voice, loud and clear above the noise of the river: 

“I’M SCARED TOO. I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU.”

Dean freezes, mind racing but somehow stuck in place simultaneously. Cas turns, looks at Dean right in the eye, and then looks back to the river, standing at the rock for a few seconds longer. Dean would be convinced he imagined the words, but he can hear them echoing off the walls as Cas simply stares out into the river, face hidden from Dean.

What?  
_I don’t want to lose you._  
Fucking _what_?!  
_I’m scared too._

The echoes eventually stop and Castiel clambers down from the rock and he smiles wide as if nothing even happened and Dean has to wonder, _again_ whether he just went momentarily insane, complete with auditory hallucinations.

“Shall we?” Cas says, gesturing for Dean to follow him back up the rickety trail they came down. Dean closes his mouth with a click and stares back at Cas wide eyed.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, still unable to process what just happened. “Sure. I mean, yeah. Let’s go.”

_I’m scared too._  
_I don’t want to lose you._

*

 

The ride home is… awkward.

Or maybe it’s in Dean’s head. Castiel is content to hum along to the radio, but Dean isn’t sure what to say. Is he supposed to mention it? What even was that? Dean can’t stop going over the sentences in his head. As if it’ll make the words mean something different. _I’m scared too._ _I don’t want to lose you._

And then there’s the random moments from their friendship that keep cropping up and Dean can’t seem to stop them from playing them on a loop either.

Like when Cas first needed a place to stay and Dean offered up his own. Sam had been incredulous. Dean had argued that he was helping a friend out, but Sam had made some good arguments about the size of the apartment and the fact that Dean had known Castiel for all of one day.

But Dean had never regretted his offer. Not even when three hours later Cas was at his doorstep with a duffel bag and what looked like a bright green bong. And especially not when the anniversary of his mother’s death came around and kicked him in the gut. Cas didn’t say a word, didn’t ask; he just held Dean right there on the floor, and got into the shower with him fully dressed to clean the vomit off his clothes.

But being friends with Cas wasn’t even about moments like those. The “big ones” that people say is why they stay with someone for so long. No, being friends with Cas was like having a good luck charm. I mean, a lot of it is bull shit and half the time you’re cursing it for not working; but on days where the little stuff starts to pile up, you find yourself noticing the good stuff because of that damned thing that promised you it would be ok. You get one green light after a day of nagging at the office and you stare down at the smelly rabbit’s foot dangling from your keychain and think, well. Gotta look on the bright side.

Or at least have a sense of humor about the shitty parts.

Dean shakes his head. Castiel looks over at the movement and smiles at him. Dean can’t quite meet his eyes, too busy worrying about the dumb way Cas had looked at him and the dumb words he said to the river. This whole goddamn trip was a dumb thought and Dean hates his dumb self with his dumb ideas of dumb goodbyes.

They spend the afternoon “recovering”. Cas offers to make Dean lunch, but Dean insists on staying in the tent, despite the stifling heat in there. The red material casts a pink glow on everything inside the tent, which only serves to convince Dean he is boiling to death. But he refuses to leave because that would mean looking Cas in the eye and he’s not sure he can do that yet. 

Dean eats a half melted candybar he has stashed in his duffel bag and ignores the rumbling in his stomach. His muscles are sore from the steep hike back up the gorge and the bed isn’t comfortable, but he ends up drifting off anyway, the guilt of avoiding Cas on their Goodbye Weekend overridden by frustration and uncertainty.

When he wakes up, it’s darker outside, but the heat hasn’t let up. He stretches, checking the time on his phone with some remorse and getting up to see what Cas is up to.

As it turns out, Cas is sitting by a fire again, apparently eating something and humming again. Dean doesn’t recognize the tune, but the sound is melancholic. For the first time this weekend, Cas’ expression looks genuinely _sad_. Something in Dean’s chest unfurls and he stumbles out of the tent to walk over to where Cas is still staring at the fire, humming softly, oblivious. 

Inside the tent, the heat had been dry. Out here, beside the fire, the humidity is suffocating and Dean almost chokes on the thickness in the air.

“Where did you sleep last night, Cas?” Dean asks. The question is the first thing that pops into his head and he blurts it out without thinking. He had been too drunk or high to think about it the night before, but now Dean wonders what the hell Cas does when he isn’t around.

“Outside.”

“What?” Dean exclaims. “Why the fuck didn’t you bring a tent?”

“It was going to be a full moon anyway,” Cas answers, his usual cryptic self. He barely glances at Dean, staring into the flames. Dean glances up at the moon and it is in fact a large looming circle. Still, Cas’ logic makes no sense. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to be mean, Cas?”

Cas looks up, challenge in his eyes.

“Whatever you want it to mean, Dean.”

Dean is already sweating and Cas looks cool as a cucumber, two feet away from a blazing fire. Dean huffs, ready to stomp back to the tent and definitely not pout. But then he’s struck with the _challenge_ in Cas’ eye. Like he already knows Dean’s just going to hole off back in the tent. As if Dean doesn’t care about whether or not Cas gets eaten by bears.

But Dean cares, ok? Cas is his best friend, no matter what weird sentiment he expressed today at the gorge. And Dean can’t really afford to have his best friend get eaten by bears right now.

“Come on,” Dean says, grabbing Cas by the arm. He has this crazy large shirt on proclaiming there is only one earth and Dean is momentarily distracted by his collarbone peeking through the neck hole, but Dean steels himself, dragging Castiel to his feet.

“What?” Castiel splutters, and plants himself firmly. Dean pulls harder and is embarrassed to find he cannot move him.

“Get in the tent. You’re not sleeping outside tonight, Cas.”

“It’s barely ten o’clock.”

“I don’t care. There’s gonna be a storm soon. Get the fuck in here.”

Castiel finally lets Dean pull him to the tent and all but shove him inside. Dean clambers in behind him and sits down beside a sprawling and confused Castiel.

Dean knows it was just an excuse. He’s trying to think of something to say when Castiel sighs, and repositions himself on the tiny mattress so that there’s a space beside him.

It’s so fucking hot, Dean’s drenched again, and this isn’t really ideal cuddling weather, but suddenly Dean can’t help himself. _I don’t want to lose you._ God, Dean doesn’t want to lose Castiel either. And maybe it wasn’t about him or maybe Dean’s reading too much into it but for some reason he stopped caring when he saw that stupid way Castiel’s eyes dulled at the fire, humming that melancholic tune like he was saying goodbye. They don’t have to say goodbye. They don’t. 

Dean musters up all of his courage, ignores the burning in his cheeks, and sidles up to lie beside Castiel.

They just lie there. The sky is slowly darkening and Dean can see Castiel’s eyelashes patter against his cheek as he stares up at the “skylight” style window that’s open in the bright red tent. And Dean should tell him to stop, to leave, to do something other than lie there beside him with his bare hips peeking out from the loose shirt. But it’s so much more _comfortable_ than the night before already and Cas isn’t even _touching_ him. All he can think is how much he missed this goddamn idiot the night before. And ok Cas is this huge hippie loving freak and Dean has a hard time making any kind of decision without a huge plan, but it works. They work. And suddenly it clicks.

You don’t shower with your best friend. You don’t share laundry detergent or do groceries with your platonic roommate. Friends don’t get twinges of nausea when one of them starts fucking the bendy tanned guy Andy from yoga class on Wednesdays.

Cas isn’t Dean’s friend. 

“So,” Castiel finally says, turning his head so that he’s looking Dean right in the eye.

He’s interrupting Dean’s thought process though so Dean grabs his hands, suddenly inspired.

Because Dean… Dean belongs with Cas. 

Castiel closes his mouth, eyes wide, and Dean takes a second to grin because Castiel is finally fucking speechless.

“Dean,” he starts again, but Dean shakes his head.

Damn, Cas’ hands are nice. Dean is momentarily distracted by their shape and the feel of them against his own palms. They’re dry, even though Dean’s must not be, considering how the rest of him is soaking with sweat. Distantly, Dean hears a roll of thunder and is amused at the fact that his bullshit excuse is somehow being legitimized by the weather. Maybe Cas _is_ magic or charmed or whatever. Dean’s hands wrap around Cas’ wrists, and he moves them so that their palms are touching, then their fingers, then just their fingertips are connected and Dean is staring up at Cas again.

His eyes are so _blue_. Dean doesn’t know if he can find the words or what their fucking fingers are even doing at this point but he feels stuck in the blue. He doesn’t even want to stop looking because _this_... This is where Dean belongs. Fighting and frustrated and completely and hopelessly in love with a dumb bastard who doesn’t roll his socks. Here in the brand fucking new tent in the disgustingly hot soon to be thunderstorm, sharing breath and staring.

Well, Dean thinks. Perhaps they shouldn’t _only_ be staring...

Dean presses into Castiel’s fingers with his own. The only part of them touching remains the very tips of their ten fingers, but somehow this feels more intimate than all the inopportune nakedness or shared showers or pantless yoga. In fact, Dean can’t remember the last time he held someone’s hand and he’s definitely never touched fingertips in some weird variation of boko maru like this. And isn’t that a funny thought? Dean wonders if Cas has ever done this before either. And for some reason, the words _first time_ keep floating through his brain as he stares into those deep blue eyes.

“What?” Cas says suddenly, breaking them out of their intense eye contact. “No E.T. phone home jokes?”

There’s silence for a second as his words are processed in Dean’s brain.

Dean bursts into laughter at Cas’ deadpan expression.

Dean laughs and laughs and laughs and it feels like... letting go. _God_ , Dean’s definitely lost it now, giggling beside Cas in an overheated tent, their faces illuminated by a pinkish tint. Castiel’s stubbled jaw cracks into a grin too, and then Dean’s leaning into the warmth and comfort that is Castiel. Despite the heat and sweat and now the odd drop of water falling from the open sky light… Dean buries his face in Castiel’s neck, essentially tackling him onto the floor.

And the mattress is too hard and Dean should never have suggested this trip because there’s no lube in his bedside table here or condom under the sink in the bathroom. There’s just pebbles digging into his palm through the tent’s flimsy floor and too many blankets for the middle of July… But Castiel is already flipping him over and staring down at him with a kind of wild look in his eye.

“I wanna fuck you.”

“I know.” 

Castiel grins, and it’s feral. He kisses Dean, short and too sweet for the way his hips are already grinding against Dean’s.

“I,” Dean starts, once Cas moves on to his throat. He’s cut off by a whimper escaping his lips when Castiel bites, _hard_. 

“Yes?” Castiel prompts, tone nonchalant but fumbling fingers at Dean’s belt giving away his eagerness. 

“I didn’t…” Dean’s hips stutter when Castiel repositions them so that his thigh is between Dean’s legs. “I didn’t know.”

Cas frowns but doesn’t stop, hands replacing lips as he frantically attempts to divest Dean of his clothing.

“What?” Cas says finally, highly resembling a disgruntled kitten interrupted in its meal.

“I, fuck Cas, I didn’t know you wanted… I didn’t know I even…” Dean can’t say the words and has to stop anyway when Cas all but tears his shirt off. 

“I didn’t even know I wanted this, but fuck, Cas. I do,” Dean rambles, finally getting with the program long enough to tug at the hem of Cas’ shirt. 

Cas pulls back for a moment, staring down at Dean. Thunder rumbles again, this time much closer, and they are both startled out of the moment by the sudden break of the storm overhead. Big, fat drops of rain land on Cas’ bare back and Dean’s stomach. They recoil from the wet, both reaching for the flap to close it quickly as a veritable flood starts to pour into the tent. There’s a struggle to zip up the sky light in which elbows poke at inopportune places, but eventually they figure it out. Soaking and giggling, Cas collapses onto Dean, pulling off his shirt the rest of the way.

Skin to wet skin is something else. Dean can’t stop _touching_ and it’s not frantic or hurried anymore because Cas looks so good; Dean wants to remember every second of this. 

“I’ve missed you,” Cas whispers against Dean’s chest. Dean can feel the blush burn his neck and cheeks but he nods in agreement. They’ve never done this before, and yet he misses it too, misses Cas.

“I wanna see you. Dean,” Cas says pulling back to pull at Dean’s pants. “Show me.”

And Dean is nodding again because _yup_ he’s got his own personalized sex cruise director and Dean is _so on board with this_.

But it’s not like the other times Dean has slept with people. The way it’s always kind of been a show, a sort of performance because that’s what Dean was good at. Dean Winchester. A menace for women and men under any circumstances. And Dean Winchester knew how to give a good show.

The way Cas looks at Dean though… Dean’s not acting. Not even a little. His hands shake a little when they peel off his pants. He tries and fails to look up into Cas’ eyes as he does the same. 

It’s silly, really. They’re best friends. They’ve seen it all. 

But Castiel’s skin is wet and Dean’s brain is short circuiting as he rakes his eyes down Cas’ torso, unable to keep his gaze away from where Cas’ dick is hard and flush against his stomach.

Ok, maybe they haven’t seen it _all_.

Dean glances up to see Castiel’s expression and is pleased to find his best friend’s eyes glued to his own crotch. Dean smirks at Castiel’s parted lips. His gaze is almost… reverent.

Looks like Dean found a good way to shut the asshole up, finally.

Castiel looks up, eyes meeting Dean’s, and Dean can’t help but grin. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, pride, and exasperated relief that’s mirrored in Cas’ stare as he cracks a smile too.

“I fucking love you,” Dean blurts out.

He can only imagine the shade of burgundy he is turning while his eyes are probably wide enough to be be falling out of his skull.

“Sorry, fuck!” Dean starts to say, but Castiel surges forward to capture his lips with his own in a filthy kiss. 

They break apart just as quickly, Castiel breathing hard and shaking his head.

“Fucking _finally_!” he says, almost a growl as he dives back in to kissing Dean senseless. He nips at Dean’s bottom lip before adding, “I love you too, you moron.”

It’s too fast, that’s for sure. Or maybe it’s not fast enough, considering all the time they spent being in love but not knowing it. It’s definitely too much, to consider those words coming from Cas’ mouth and directed at _Dean_ , but Dean tries his best not to poke holes in the giant, floating balloon that just took up residence in his chest. At least, not quite yet. In fact, for right now, he is content to float away while Castiel fucks his mouth with that long tongue of his.

“Dean,” Castiel says against his lips, apparently unable to keep his mouth away long enough to say more than that one syllable. “Dean, Dean…”

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says, slipping his hand between them and pawing at Cas’ hip.

Cas moans into the kiss, teeth biting down on Dean’s already abused lip when Dean moves his hand further down to cup Cas. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and somehow the image of a captain hat pops into his brain as he considers switching roles as personalized sex cruise director. “Yeah, Cas, baby, come on.”

Cas is making these little _unh_ sounds as he thrusts into Dean’s hand and it’s driving him fucking crazy. Dean shifts a little under Cas’ weight so that his dick lines up with Cas’ and _yes_ , _fuck yes_ , they’re thrusting in tandem in the loose tunnel of Dean’s fingers. 

“Wait,” Cas says, breaking their kiss and stuttering to a stop in his motions. “Wait, Dean, wait…”  
Dean does not like that idea and thrusts, hard, to hear the little groan Cas makes in response.

“Fuck, just wait, sweetheart,” Cas says, turning away to rummage in his bag for something. When he straightens up his hands are on a small bottle of oil.

“What the fuck is-” Dean is cut off when Cas slides into place beside him, his hand slick with the mysterious oil.

“Rosehip oil is very good for your skin, Dean,” Cas says, a little breathless as he thrusts into his own hand. Dean wraps his fingers around Cas’ hand too, grunting when Cas’ grip tightens around both their cocks. “It’s -- _unh_ \-- an excellent natural alternative to lubricant.”

Dean isn’t sure whether to laugh or be grossed out at that, so he settles for breathless moan as Castiel brings his other hand up behind Dean’s balls. They’re still rocking their hips in a frantic rhythm and Dean is so damn _close_.

“The letters,” Castiel says suddenly, urgently. His long fingers are slick with the fucking rose oil and one of them is traveling further back to Dean’s perineum. “I wrote, ah Dean! I wrote to you every day.”

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, because _fuck_ , what a time to be confessing. “Cas, please!”

“Show me, Dean,” Cas almost pleads. Dean has to shut his eyes because it’s overwhelming, it’s too much. “Show me, sweetheart. Come.”

“Cas,” Dean hisses, just as Cas’ finger brushes his sensitive opening. “Yeah, Cas, just -- yeah. Fuck, I wanna feel you… Inside me. Come on, baby, yeah. Yeah, _yes!_ ”

Dean tenses up, back arching, and then shudders his release with Cas’ name on his lips. He thrusts through it, the mess of oil and come turning everything slick, until Cas soon follows, head falling forward into Dean’s sweat soaked skin. 

“Shit,” Dean says, not even bothering to clean them up or change positions.

Castiel hauls himself back up onto his elbows, smiling lazily at Dean and raising his hand to Dean’s mouth.

Eyes widening, Dean parts his lips in surprise as Cas traces his cupid’s bow with a mix of their come. It should be gross. Dean can smell whatever oil Cas used, its warm, earthy scent an undertone to the smell of Cas and sex and Dean all mixed up together on his _lips_. Castiel takes his hand away and watches Dean, eyes sharp.

Cheeks aflame and heart hammering, Dean darts his tongue out, almost unconsciously, and tastes the salty-bitter combination. When he looks up at Cas, his blue eyes are half-hooded. When Dean swallows the taste, Cas rushes forward as if to taste it, tongue lapping at Dean’s mouth greedily. Cas brings up his fingers and slides it into Dean’s mouth alongside his tongue, fucking into it sloppily, but the urgency is gone. Instead they luxuriate in the slow, wet kisses until finally Cas pulls back, eyes hazy and unfocused, smile playing at his pinkened lips.

“You were so beautiful,” Cas murmurs, shaking his head. “You _are_ so beautiful.”

And Dean is too comfortable and sated to argue. Instead, he just curls up beside Cas and listens to the rain outside as their breathing evens out. 

*

Dean wakes up in a fresh pair of boxers, no Cas in sight. He looks around to find that most of his things are packed, and the blankets and pillows not occupied by his body are nowhere to be found. Concerned, and slightly worried that the night before had been a very, _very_ realistic dream, Dean springs up from the floor with more gusto than probably necessary. He nearly falls to his knees at the protesting pain in his back, but manages to stay standing by groaning loudly. 

The tent flap jerks and a pair of familiar blue eyes stare cautiously through the opening. 

“Hi,” says Cas with an uncharacteristically shy smile. Dean can't help but grin back. It's not awkward. It's not even awkward and Dean kind of wants to do a happy dance. He doesn't though. Because _that_ would be awkward. 

“I thought maybe you'd left,” Dean blurts out. He curses his lack of a filter. 

“What? Of course not!” Castiel sounds so offended that Dean chuckles a little. “I was just packing…”

“Done with the camping scene?” Dean asks, pulling on the t-shirt that was laid out for him. He ignores the swell of affection in his chest at the gesture and he definitely ignores the thrill of putting on clothes Cas _wants_ him to wear. 

“I have found it to be… lacking, in some respects.”

“Oh really?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity. 

Castiel rolls his eyes, leaving the tent open and marching out to gather the rest of their belongings by the fire. 

“Hurry up!” Cas calls, a beat later. “We require a bed.”

If Dean moves a little faster after that, no one is the wiser.


End file.
